When the Dam Breaks
by x-Energy.Purple-x
Summary: Vulcans don't lie. Vulcans don't possess emotions. What happens when Jim realises just how painfully untrue that is? What happens when he realises how much Spock is suffering? Post!Narada fic. Kirk/Spock Slash!


**A/N: So, I was having a bit of a horrible day yesterday, and I decided to exorcise it by writing angsty, emotional fic :) I'm actually rather proud of the results, and I can only hope that you guys like it as well :)**

**If you feel like leaving any reviews, comments etc. telling me what you thought, I'd be eternally grateful! I still feel very nervous about writing for this fandom, so if you can help me out in any way, it'd be hugely appreciated :)**

**Enjoy! :)**

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Every time Jim had heard the age-old cliché that "Vulcans never lie," Jim had been the first to laugh at whoever said it.

"Vulcans never lie" was the biggest lie of the whole Vulcan race, right up there with the whole notion of Vulcans not possessing any emotions. Vulcans possessed emotions, or at least his First Officer did.

He knew Spock experienced anger – hell, he didn't need a reminder of _that; _the week-old bruises still visible around his throat were enough of a reminder as it was. He knew that Spock experienced impatience and exasperation; the subtle eye rolls, the slightly forced exhalations of breath whenever Jim made command decisions and Spock waited only a few seconds to let Jim think he had the upper hand were obvious. So was the satisfaction that he knew would result from Spock launching into the most logical of arguments to put Jim in his place. Hell, Jim knew that Vulcans fucking felt smugness if the look in Spock's eyes whenever Spock proved him wrong or undermined his decisions was anything to go by.

Yes, Vulcans experienced emotion – more importantly, _Spock_ experienced emotion.

This was how Jim knew without a shadow of a doubt that Vulcans could lie, because Spock had been lying to himself for a week. Ever since Spock had relieved command of the Enterprise to Jim, ever since Jim had forced Spock into breaking that Vulcan façade beneath the flurry of grief, of rage and sadness at his mother's death, Spock had closed himself off.

Jim was pretty damn sure that if Spock meditated any more than he already had, Jim was going to choke to death on all that incense Spock was burning.

His First Officer had regressed behind that mask of sheer Vulcan perfection, answering any claims to his emotional state and how he was holding up with a cold, clipped "my mental and physical capacities are more than capable of functioning to optimal levels. I would ask that you focus your questions on your own duties, for mine are not of your concern," his tone so emotionless it hurt.

Spock thought he was fine, but Jim knew better. Spock wasn't fine.

After nearly 20 minutes of calling Spock, of knocking down his door and threatening him with all kinds of regulations in some desperate attempt to elicit a response, Jim had to use his override on Spock's door when the Vulcan refused to answer him. When he'd found Spock kneeling on the floor beside his meditation candle, his body trembling and a steady stream of tears slipping from his closed eyes, Jim couldn't help but rush into the blistering heat of the room.

As he reached Spock, he could hear the softest of murmurs, the sobbed whispers of "mother" leaving Spock's lips over and over again like a chant, and he quickly called out to the computer to lock the door to Spock's quarters. He wanted to preserve what was left of his First Offi- no, his _friends, _dignity; no-one else needed to know about this, Spock at least deserved that much.

As Jim slowly knelt down in front of Spock, Jim was almost overwhelmed at the sheer level of emotion that hit him; _… _

The brutal force of the sensations permeating every pore of Spock's skin was enough to make Jim feel like he was going to drown beneath the intensity of them. Spock's shields had well and truly shattered, and the idea that Spock was so strangely - _vulnerable_ - in a way Jim had never been able to imagine, made a lump rise in his throat. He knew - despite the bullshit others thought of Vulcans, how they were nothing more than cold, unfeeling machines of logic – just how deep and powerful a Vulcan could feel, and Jim was only getting the _residual_ emotions.

The thought that what he was experiencing just from being this close to Spock was absolutely nothing compared to what Spock was going through himself was enough to overrule all ideas and fears of etiquette and personal space that ruled every conversation between Spock and himself. Reaching forward, Jim laid his hands firmly over Spock's own, moaning out in near agony as the rush of emotion he felt beforehand was amplified, threatening to make his own mind crack under the strain of years of Vulcan repression being unleashed in this one breakdown.

Spock's fingers seemed to twist and instinctively tighten around Jim's own, letting Jim anchor him in his grief as his murmurs turned incomprehensible, replaced by a soft keening that made Jim's blood run cold. But Jim wasn't going to let his own discomfort force him away – Spock needed him, in a way that Jim had never even imagined in his wildest dreams, and the thought of leaving him now seemed cruel; cruel in a way that would make Kodos and Tarsus IV seem like nothing more than shore leave.

It made Jim feel physically sick to realise that, although he hadn't bought the lies and defences that Spock had hid behind, he hadn't been there for him. He _knew_ that Spock wasn't okay, yet it still took him this long to approach him, and that made him seem worse in his own eyes than the others of the Bridge Crew who had endeavoured to stay well away instead.

Jim took a deep breath. Despite being psi-null, Jim tried to create a haven of calmness, of comfort and warmth in his own mind; it was nearly impossible when the force of Spock's emotions were threatening to make his head split open under the pressure, but Jim prided himself on taking on no-win situations, and once he had felt he was prepared, he tried clumsily to transfer those emotions through the fingers still twined in Spock's death grip.

He was pleasantly surprised when he felt the whirlwind of emotions immediately start to release, Spock reaching out with an almost child-like desperation to the warmth of Jim, his mind and his body. He could feel the moment that Spock slipped from his meditative state back into reality; Spock let out a sudden shuddering breath, his shivering increasing ten-fold as Jim reluctantly went to let go of Spock's fingers. He'd barely let skin contact drop before Spock almost violently fisted his hands into the now damp and ruffled command gold, pulling Jim forward abruptly and burying his face into Jim's shoulder.

At any other time, Jim would've been startled and somewhat shocked at how Spock was being so tactile, so craving of physical contact, but Spock was half-human after all; despite that Vulcan mask of aloofness and superiority Spock prided himself on, the all too human emotions - those of his mother – were still there. They were as much a part of Spock as his green blood and pointed ears, and the realisation that Spock was no longer scared of hiding that half of himself away made Jim feel almost… proud.

Spock could no longer lie to himself; he could no longer lie to Jim. Spock wasn't okay.

Spock was clearly grieving the loss of his planet, of his race, but most importantly of all, his mother, and the knowledge that Jim would be one of the only people left in existence who could allow Spock to see this was humbling. Jim wasn't an idiot; Spock was three times stronger than him. Even in the throes of his silent breakdown, if he didn't want Jim there, then he would've made sure Jim had left. Jim suddenly felt doubt seep into him; did Spock actually want him there? Did Spock want Jim to see him so vulnerable? Would Spock hate him for witnessing this? Just as Jim was thinking it might be better to call one of the councillors down from Sick Bay, the pained keening began again in earnest.

"Please," Spock whispered pleadingly, apparently not caring that he had surrendered his veneer of emotionlessness and logic again to the only man who'd broken it before. "Please, do not leave me. I do not want to be alone anymore. I cannot let those who invoke such feelings within me walk away whilst not giving me the chance to save them."

He wasn't a girl in any sense of the world, and despite the cliché being mortifyingly cringe worthy at the best of times, Jim could've sworn he felt his heart break at the sound of Spock's voice. _"Those who invoke such feelings within me…"_ What feelings? Did Spock feel for him what Spock had felt, _still_ felt, for his mother? Was Spock scared that one day, he wouldn't be able to save Jim, just like he felt he hadn't been able to save his mother? Jim breathed out a sigh, his mind flooded with questions as he tightened his arms around Spock, whispering nonsensical words of comfort as he felt the keening and shivering lessen.

It felt strange, comforting Spock in a way similar to the way one would comfort a child, but he supposed Spock was almost a child in a way – he was alone, desperately missing his mother and experiencing emotions for the first time that he had locked away for his whole life. Smiling slightly, Jim couldn't help but press his lips softly to the bare skin of Spock's temple, and he was starting to relax into the silence surrounding them when Spock suddenly broke it once more.

"Those that I experience strong feelings of affection for, those are the individuals who I seem to lose to the actions of others. My only friend through the tempestuous years of my youth, my Sehlat, taken by the natural biological order of the universe and its lifespan; my father, taken by my shaming of my Vulcan heritage; my mother, taken by the act of a madman and my own failed inability to save her from her death. I do not think I could bear to lose you as well, thee who has taken my mind and my heart in thy grasp. Please, do not ever leave me in this life, for the loneliness would take me with you."

Jim was stunned silent.

For a normal Vulcan, let alone Spock, to admit that depth of emotions, of fear and love for him to him, was bordering on so insane and against everything he knew that he was almost convinced he had dreamt the entire exchange. It wasn't until Jim felt Spock's hands slowly release their grip on his shirt, brushing the tips of his fingers across the palm of Jim's hand in a tentative kiss, and Jim felt the slightest hint of love, the faintest echo of _T'hy'la_ vibrating beneath the grief and bitter depression that was still so prominent, that Jim realised Spock was nervously awaiting his reaction to his confession, his doubt and fear beginning to build.

Jim wasn't going to waste any more time.

Caressing Spock's fingers gently, soothingly, with his own, Jim pressed a chaste and tender kiss – a human kiss this time – to Spock's mouth, feeling the faintest movement of Spock's lips in reciprocation before he pulled away, his expression earnest and filled with conviction.

"I am never going to leave you Spock, not even in death would I leave you."

He felt more than saw the bursting bubble of relief and gratefulness that transferred from Spock, and he gave a slight smile, his free hand coming up to brush against the dried tear tracks against Spock's cheek.

"Now come on, I think you've been on this floor long enough. It's time for you to actually get some proper sleep for once."

Spock didn't offer any resistance, allowing himself to be pulled wearily from the floor after he extinguished the dimming flame that was still glowing. "I will only succumb to your logical suggestion of sleep on one condition."

Jim quirked his eyebrow curiously. "And what's that then?"

Spock looked down, a faint greenish tinge brushing his cheeks as his embarrassment began to surface – he was starting to rebuild his shields, and the outpouring of emotion was obvious starting to register as unfitting of his race in his mind, Jim reasoned, but before he could say anything, Spock answered.

"That you stay with me, Th'y'la." Jim gave him a devastatingly soft smile, one that Jim had never graced anyone else with as he curled his fingers beneath Spock's chin lightly, making him look him in the eye.

"I will always stay with you."

As much as Vulcans claimed they couldn't lie, neither could Jim.


End file.
